


Meeting you Again for the First Time

by scintilla10



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla10/pseuds/scintilla10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha loves working at the bookstore.  He does not, however, enjoy working with Mike Rosenbaum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting you Again for the First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to hils for looking this over for me. This was written for dugindeep for the fic exchange at [m2_homegoods](http://community.livejournal.com/m2_homegoods/profile). I hope you like it!

Thursday mornings were quiet in the bookstore, which was why they were Misha's favourite time. He could loiter in his sections (Poetry, Architecture and Renovation, and Politics) and re-stock without worrying about getting in the way of customers. It was the middle of the week, which meant the busy weekend shifts were coming up but weren't close enough that he needed to worry about them. He could take his coffee break at 10:15 with Julie (Travel, Boating, and Mystery) and not worry about coming back ten minutes late. He could chat with a couple browsing in Politics about foreign policy and still have the time to rant about the evils of Dan Brown with a girl in Poetry.

He could also work on his elaborate plans for front window displays that Katie—who was in charge of the window displays—never let him actually put up. His latest pitch had been a celebration of poetry in which he had planned to suspend books with fishing line, arranged so that the titles cunningly lined up to create a poem. Katie had deemed it incredible creative but very impractical. The current window display was a collection of the most recent bestsellers. Totally boring and uninteresting.

Anyway, the point was that Thursday mornings were generally relaxing and stress-free.

Plus, as a bonus, Michael Rosenbaum worked the late shift and didn't come in until 12:30.

Yeah, Thursdays were _good_ days.

~~~

Misha took over a cash register around noon to let Genevieve (Young Adult Fiction and Foreign Languages) have lunch. They were usually pretty busy around the lunch hour, but today things were still slow enough for him to lean against the counter and talk with Jared (Animals and Magazines).

"Saturday's my day off," Jared said. "And, dude, I just wanna spend all day in bed. I'm exhausted."

"Aw, is that old arthritic back of yours acting up again?" Misha said, tapping a pen idly on the counter. "I know how it is, buddy—I've had this gout—"

"Fuck off," Jared said. They both glanced around automatically for any nearby customers but no one was within hearing distance. "I don't have arthritis," Jared continued in a quieter voice, shooting him a look. "I've just worked six days in a row."

"Oh yeah?" Misha said, hiding his grin. "Don't be embarrassed, even grown-ups need naptime—"

"Yeah, that I'm going to spend with my _boyfriend_," Jared said. "Very _athletically_, you douchebag." Misha raised an eyebrow at him but before he could comment, Jared added, "Speaking of kindergarten, your arch-enemy has arrived." He nodded towards the back of the store where Mike (Biography, Graphic Novels, and—bizarrely—Erotica) was coming onto the floor from the back room with an armload of books.

Misha narrowed his eyes in Mike's direction. Mike was wearing a shade of green that made him look weirdly taller and also reminded Misha forcibly and uncomfortably of the staff party a month ago. Mike had turned up dressed in a blonde wig, a short skirt, a green bra, and absolutely nothing else. Misha had gaped at him, a flush suffusing his whole body, and found himself wishing desperately for a shot of the hardest stuff they had. It was—that should _not_ have been hot, is all. It was ridiculous and it was Rosenbaum of all people and Misha had been forced to turn away before he embarrassed himself by staring.

Today, Mike's green shirt made him look like a frog, Misha thought with vicious satisfaction. Well, a tall frog. Definitely an _ugly_ frog. Was that an oxymoron? Never mind; he looked like a tall frog that was even uglier than regularly ugly tall frogs.

Mike didn't even glance towards the registers. That irrationally made Misha even more annoyed; being the only one acting petty was really unsatisfying. He started tapping his pen even faster.

"Do you need some time alone in your separate corners?" Jared said. He looked amused.

"Shut up," Misha said automatically, and turned towards an advancing customer with a cheerful smile plastered on his face.

~~~

"Well, as they say, world domination can be a tiring business," Mike said, with completely faked ennui.

Julie giggled. Misha glared at her.

They were in the receiving room and Mike was talking expansively about his plans for taking over the world. Jared was laughing and egging him on, and Alona was drawing up plans for a private jet in the shape of a pterodactyl. The whole thing was annoying as hell and not just because Misha had intended to use many of the same tactics in his own international take-over.

"Oh whatever," Julie said to him. "If you weren't so tied up about the guy, you'd think this was hilarious, too."

"'Oh Great and Glorious Leader' might be my favorite title," Mike went on, "but I would never say no to 'Thou Blindingly Attractive One.'"

Misha stabbed at the print key and went to stand by the printer near the door to wait for his sales report. The sooner he got out of here the better.

"And I know it's strange, but I don't even like squid," Mike was saying.

Something inside Misha clenched a little. Two weeks ago, he'd overheard Mike refer to Misha as strange while he was around the corner in Politics overstock. Yet here _he_ was rambling crazily to anyone who would listen about dinosaur jets and the adoration of mobs and his distaste for tentacles.

Misha yanked his report off the printer and got out of the receiving room as quickly as possible.

~~~

"Are we back to that again?" Julie said as they left work that evening. "He's strange, you're strange, we're all strange. Anyway, you missed the context of that conversation. Which is what you get for eavesdropping." They were going out the front entrance, and Misha could see Mike talking animatedly to a customer in the Biography section. He wrenched his gaze away and stalked towards the door.

"I don't need context," Misha muttered. "He said I was strange. _He_ said I was strange. I mean, Jesus. Pot, meet kettle and bash yourself over the fucking head with your own wooden spoon."

"Wooden spoon?" Julie said, and snorted. She hid her nose under her thick woolen scarf and her next words came out muffled. "Yeah, I can see this is hardly bothering you at all."

Misha shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

Julie looked at him sideways. "Is this about the yogurt thing again?"

It _wasn't_ about the yogurt thing, but Misha was grateful for the reminder that Michael Rosenbaum was far and away a bigger asshat than he was.

"It's the staff room fridge," Julie added. "I bet it wasn't even Mike that ate your stupid yogurt."

"Shut up," Misha said. "Genevieve _saw_ him. Anyway," he added, "I do not want to talk about Mike fucking Rosenbaum anymore."

"You brought it up," Julie pointed out, which Misha found far from helpful, but she also didn't argue when he changed the subject, so there was that at least.

~~~

On Friday, Jared's boyfriend came into the store while Misha was helping Jared in the Magazine section. Jared lit up the second he saw Jensen, like his whole world was suddenly sunshine and rainbows and first edition hardcovers, and Jensen's expression wasn't all that dissimilar. The cynical part of Misha really wanted to find them completely disgusting but he mostly found it depressing. He couldn't even get a date these days.

Misha could already feel the three's-a-crowd vibe infiltrating the aisle and spilling out into the immediate vicinity, so he started edging into Science Fiction/Fantasy.

"Hey, Misha," Jensen said, tearing his gaze away from Jared to acknowledge that someone else existed in the world. "We're going out for drinks tonight. You wanna come?"

Misha's plans for the night so far involved beer, his couch, and his own right hand.

Which was, he reflected, possibly one of the reasons he remained consistently dateless.

"Just the three of us?" Misha asked. He wondered if it was better to jerk off alone on a Friday night or play third wheel and _then_ go home and jerk off alone.

"A bunch of friends," Jensen said. He looked around vaguely. "Tom's around here somewhere."

"C'mon," Jared added. "You haven't been out with us in weeks, man." His expression turned sly. "Unless you've got a secret piece of ass you're not telling us about."

Misha rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, that's definitely it," he deadpanned. "I can't believe you found out about my clandestine man-lover."

"Don't ever use the word 'man-lover' again," Jared said, making a face.

"So you'll come then, yeah?" Jensen said.

"Yeah, okay," Misha said. "You probably have a break around now, right, Jared?" he added, looking pointedly at the way Jared was tangling his hand with Jensen's.

Jared grinned at him. "Don't be a douche, man," he said, and tugged Jensen towards the staff room.

"Don't think I don't see all that surreptitious PDA going on!" Misha called after them. He got a middle finger from each of them in response.

Okay, great. A social life. He could deal with that.

~~~

When Misha got to the bar that evening he spotted Jared flagging down a bartender before he caught sight of anyone else.

"Hey!" Jared grinned at him. "Wasn't sure you'd actually make it."

"Yeah, well," Misha said, shrugging. His couch had started silently mocking him for his lonely and solitary existence; although it was impressive feat for an inanimate object, it was also really irritating.

"We're in the back. You can carry the extra pitcher."

He followed Jared to the back of the busy bar where a bunch of tables had been pushed together. Jensen was sitting there, laughing with a stunning redhead, and next to her was—

Mike fucking Rosenbaum.

Misha hissed in surprise and almost dropped his pitcher. Mike looked up and caught sight of him and Misha wasn't quite fast enough to turn his gaze away. There was a weird expression on Mike's face before it darkened and he narrowed his eyes at Misha.

Misha threw a glance at Jared, who didn't have one single iota of sympathy or apology on his face, the bastard. "You little fucker," Misha hissed, but Jared just quirked a grin and slid down next to Jensen.

The guy on the other side of Mike was introduced as Tom, but Misha knew he'd met him before. He didn't know if Tom was Mike's boyfriend or friend or fuckbuddy or what, but he'd seen him in the store a few times. In fact, Tom had been there the first time Misha had actually spoken to Mike. Which had been a fucking humiliating experience for all involved and _really_ best left completely forgotten.

Sometimes Misha wished he could take his own advice.

"Misha!" Tom said, smiling cheerfully. "I think we've met before."

"Hi," Misha said, and sat down between Jared and the hot redhead who introduced herself as Danneel.

"You're another one of the book geeks, huh?" she said, grinning at him.

"Yeah," Misha said, and took a long pull of beer, letting it slide cool and malty down his throat to distract him from the fact that Mike was sitting two seats away from him.

Drinking at a table with a person with whom Misha had sworn never to break bread was awkward on several fronts. He surreptitiously sent an alarm-filled text to Julie under the table, but she didn't reply, which probably meant that she actually had a life. He glared at his phone and turned to make eye contact with Danneel.

"What do you think is more likely?" he said, deciding abrasive craziness was as good a kicking-off point as any for what was likely to be a horrible and/or embarrassing evening. "Zombie apocalypse or attack by kraken?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Misha saw Mike's head snap up. Crap. He should've known zombies would draw Mike's attention. Or maybe it was the tentacles.

Danneel regarded him for a moment. "Is this specific to Vancouver?" she said thoughtfully. "Because for anywhere that isn't coastal, I'm gonna have to go with zombies."

"Good point," Misha said. "Vancouver."

"Krakens," Danneel said immediately. "They're much cooler."

"Cooler than zombies?" Mike said loudly, sounding outraged.

"The question was which was more _likely_," Danneel pointed out. "I'm completely unconvinced by zombies, but there could be _anything_ lurking in the depths of the Pacific."

"But zombies could make brain soup in your skull!" Mike protested.

Misha ignored him. "Who would win: pirate or ninja?" he said to Danneel.

"Cross-dressing pirate," Mike said immediately.

Danneel grinned. "Ninja with an eyepatch."

"Hmm," Misha said. "And a peg leg?"

"Totally. My turn," she added. "Would you rather have the power to fly or the power to turn invisible?"

"Either option allows eavesdropping," Misha said pointedly, not looking at Mike who was still shamelessly listening to them, and ignoring the twinge in his gut at the thought of his own eavesdropping two weeks ago. "And both of them eliminate the need for expensive air travel."

"Although if you snuck onto an airplane under the cloak of invisibility, you wouldn't get anything to eat for the whole flight," Mike pointed out. "Or have anywhere to sit down."

Misha grimaced, but had to acknowledge that was a decent point. Not that he was about to say that out loud. "Non-transatlantic flights," he amended.

"You could probably steal those miniature packages of pretzels without anyone noticing, though," Mike continued. "Although it would depend if your power allowed you to turn things you were touching invisible as well."

Misha turned his head to look at Mike directly. "So you'd choose invisibility then?" he said.

Mike shrugged. "Flying's overrated," he said.

"Yeah, and the benefit of invisibility is that I wouldn't have to look at your butt-ugly face all the time," Tom put in, smirking, from Mike's other side.

Misha flicked his eyes towards Mike, but Mike didn't look upset; he just laughed a little and said, "Fuck you, fuckwit." Something coiled in Misha's belly, tight and bright and uncomfortable. He'd been half-tempted to add something snarky about how much he'd like it if Mike were invisible too—but he hadn't. Which, when he was in abrasive crazy mode, was unusually reticent of him.

And anyway, it wouldn't have been true.

"If you were invisible, you wouldn't have to pay for anything _ever_," Jared was saying.

"So if you had a superpower, you'd immediately turn to a life of crime?" Jensen said, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, my hero."

"You'd probably have a good chance of surviving the zombie apocalypse if you were invisible," Misha said, before he could stop himself, and Mike looked straight at him, his eyes widening just a little. "You'd be able to confuse them."

"You'd have an even better chance if you could fly, though," Danneel argued before Mike could respond. "There's no way zombies could catch you if you were a hundred feet above their heads."

Mike was still looking at him, and Misha had no idea how to read the expression on his face. To distract everyone from the flush he could feel rising in his own cheeks, he said, turning to Jensen, "New topic. Peanut butter: crunchy or smooth?"

He went home that night pleasantly buzzed and ended up jerking off on the couch just to get it to stop eyeing him in that smug way. He wasn't sober enough, though, to stop himself from thinking about the way Mike's lips looked when they were wet and slick with beer or the way his blue eyes lit up when he laughed.

~~~

Misha's hangover the next day was only a faded ache at the back of his skull and it was almost completely gone by lunchtime.

In fact, he was humming cheerfully that afternoon as he skirted round Health. Health was the most embarrassing section to get trapped by a customer looking for advice and/or recommendations; Misha was not a doctor and he did not feel inclined to listen to an info dump of other people's symptoms. On his way through, he did a quick fly-by of Architecture and Renovation.

He stopped abruptly. Several copies of _Decorating with Macramé and More! _ were facing cheerfully outwards, while Misha's favorite cover-out display book, _Eco-Building_, had been spined and shoved almost out of sight. Which—okay, it wasn't like that was unusual. Customers rearranged books all the time or (more likely) mis-shelved them. Sometimes John Grisham ended up in Astronomy, sometimes guides to decorating with macramé ended up face-out.

Misha reorganized them. The decorating book must have arrived today and someone had put it out for him. It wasn't a huge deal, really; Misha preferred to put out his own new stuff when it came in just in case there was something interesting, but if someone was doing him a favor, he wasn't really going to begrudge that. Even if that someone had prioritized macramé over _Eco-Building_. Which—really?

He almost ran into Katie on his way to the back room.

"So I had this brilliant idea for the front window," he said to her before she could say a word.

"Yeah?" she said, taking the pen out of her mouth and shuffling the product reports in her hands.

"Picture this: a foggy morning. You're walking by the bookstore and you glance in the window and—aha! You see the Vancouver skyline! No, wait, it's not just the Vancouver skyline, it's the Vancouver skyline built entirely out of books! Architecture books, obviously. It would be masterful—"

"Brilliant," Katie said, "as always. But I think you already know the answer."

"You're going with Alona's winter-themed kids books display," Misha said, feigning a heartbroken expression.

Katie rolled her eyes and didn't fall for his pout for even a second. "Yes," she said. "The kids section is the highest-grossing section in the store."

"Because it gets all the best window displays," Misha pointed out.

Katie gave him a shove. "Get back to work, Misha," she said.

Misha saluted smartly. "Right, boss."

"I'm not your boss!" she called after him.

He was grinning as he circled into the receiving room to see if any other books had come in for his sections but he stopped short when he saw Mike standing there. At first he was completely distracted by the back of Mike's neck, which looked soft and smooth and, God, _lickable_, and it took him a minute to realize that Mike was holding a pile of oversized architecture books.

Misha drew in his breath sharply. A rush of annoyance spread through him, hot and prickly. That Mike of all people—_Mike_—was puttering around in his section made Misha angry enough to want to bring that heavy armful of books down on Mike's toes. And stab him with that idiotic Star Wars pen he carried around with him.

"Hey!" Misha said sharply. Mike turned to look at him. Misha steadfastly ignored the way Mike's lips quirked up just at the edges in an ever-so-slightly crooked smile. "Did you shelve my new architecture books?"

Mike glanced at the books in his arm and then up at Misha again. He had the gall to look surprised. "Yeah," he said. "They were piling up in the receiving room and I had an extra half-hour before—"

"Yeah, just, in the future," Misha said, gritting his teeth, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't fuck with my section."

Mike frowned at him, his expression darkening like a cloud smearing across the sky, wiping away that little quirk of his lips. Like _Misha_ had been the one doing something wrong. "I didn't fuck with it," Mike said. "They were piling up, like I said. I was just helping you out—"

"Yeah, well?" Misha said, his pulse pounding obnoxiously loudly in his own ears. "Don't bother _helping_ me in the future."

There was a moment of silence.

_Strange_, Misha reminded himself. _He said I was_ strange.

"Right," Mike said finally, stony-faced.

He dropped the books on the table with a heavy _thump_ and turned and walked away. As his heartbeat slowed back down to normal, Misha was left wondering why the hell he was the one that felt like a total asshole.

~~~

"That's cause you _are_ a total asshole," Julie told him the next day over the phone. It was Misha's day off and he'd had to phone the store to talk to her, disguising his voice so as not to be recognized when Genevieve answered.

"I'm not an asshole," he muttered. "I'm not. If anything, Mike's the asshole."

"For putting out your books?" Julie said. "Yeah, clearly he's the biggest asshole in the place."

"He _rearranged_ them," Misha said. He could hear the petulant whine in his own voice, so he wasn't exactly surprised when Julie gasped in mock horror.

"Ass_hole_."

"Look, he was a jerk about it, okay?" Misha muttered. He thought about that small tilt of Mike's mouth disappearing into tight-lipped anger and tightened his fingers around his coffee cup.

"You're so depressing," Julie said. "This is your day off. Go outside or do whatever it is you do in your workshop or something."

She hung up.

~~~

By the time Misha made it back to work on Tuesday morning, he felt more human. He had thoroughly ignored Julie's advice and decided to do whatever he felt like over his two days off. That, in the end, had happened to include going for a run and working on the wooden chair he was making in his workshop, but that was purely a coincidence. Anyway, Julie didn't have to know.

"Hey, Misha," Alona said, just before his morning break. She looked harried. "I know this is last minute and totally an imposition, but how would you feel about switching shifts this week?"

"I could possibly be persuaded," he said. "Or, even better, bribed. My favorite champagne is Dom Pérignon, my favorite gemstones are emeralds, and my exotic animal of choice is the Indian Star tortoise. I also take payment in dinosaur vehicles."

"I'll clean the staff room fridge," Alona said. "It's your turn at the end of the month."

Misha wrinkled his nose. "Ugh. Done."

Her face cleared. "Great. Thanks _so_ much."

"I guess you'd better tell me which shift of horror I've been roped into," he added. It was probably the Friday late shift. Or the Sunday shift; Misha typically liked his Sundays free, but he could manage for once.

"Thursday evening shift," she said cheerfully. "The only horrifying thing about it is how deadly boring it is. Thanks again, Misha."

Misha stared blindly at the book he was holding. A late shift. On Thursday. With Mike Rosenbaum.

Oh _wonderful_.

~~~

Julie refused to switch with him.

"You've been working in the same store for months," she said, "and you haven't killed each other yet. I can't imagine one shift together is going to be such a huge issue."

"One shift _alone_ together," Misha pointed out.

"Did you or did you not tell Alona you'd take her shift?"

"I did," Misha admitted. "But I'd like to point out—"

"Not interested," Julie said sweetly.

Jared was even less helpful.

"Are you kidding?" he said, sprawling his long limbs all over the staff room couch. "I have plans that night. Not to mention a hatred of evening shifts." Jared occasionally took delight in regaling Misha with explicit descriptions of how much sex he missed out on when he had to work evenings.

"I remember," Misha said pointedly.

Jared grinned evilly at him. "I'd rather spend my evenings sucking my boyfriend's big fat—"

Misha walked out on him mid-sentence and he didn't even feel bad about it.

~~~

The good thing about working the Thursday late shift was that Misha didn't have to get there until 12:30. Unfortunately, Mike arrived at the same time. They grunted at one another in the hallway, and Misha went to hide with Genevieve in Kids and finish his sales report.

At 5:30, Mike came up to join him at the front counter. There was a bit of a scowl on his face but he was civil enough when he said, "Hi."

Misha nodded.

And that was it.

Mike kept to his side of the counter, leafing through a stack of newly released graphic novels. Misha spent the evening looking up random stuff on the internet and doodling dragons and helicopters and people wearing togas on the back of discarded receipts. There were a few customers but it was mostly quiet, and he and Mike managed to keep to themselves and keep their mouths shut when no one else was around.

It was boring as hell, but at least they weren't killing each other.

They managed to get the last dawdling customers out the door just before nine o'clock, and Misha locked the front doors with a satisfying _click_ as soon as big hand hit the twelve.

"God, am I ready to go home," he said, stretching his arms above his head and hearing his shoulders pop.

Mike looked at him in surprise, and Misha suddenly remembered the fact that they hadn't exchanged a word since coming on shift at 5:30.

"Yeah," was all Mike said though, and they closed up the tills and shut down the store in silence.

Mike wasn't actually all bad, Misha reflected, sneaking a glance in his direction as they collected their coats from the staff room. He'd even been halfway decent tonight. Well, in his complete and utter silence. But still. He'd joked with that one customer about the perils of reading books with embarrassing covers in public and advised her to create a fake cover of Dickens or Steinbeck to conceal the offensive cover. And he'd talked for ten minutes to one guy about his dog, who was named Irv, apparently, and that definitely did _not_ give Misha a pang in his chest.

"Hey, thanks," Misha said before he thought better of it. "For being so civil tonight."

There was only silence and, when Misha glanced over, Mike was standing next to the sink with his gaze fixed on the wall.

_Well, fine_, Misha thought, and took a drink from his water bottle.

"You know," Mike said, so suddenly and loudly that Misha choked a little. "You're an _ass_."

"Excuse me?" Misha said when he managed to expel the water from his lungs and regain control of his breathing.

"You don't have to act like such a condescending jerk. I mean, _fuck_, thank _you_, Misha, for being civil to _me_ for once in your life. Christ. Fuck you."

"Me?" Misha sputtered. His face was flaming and he could feel something heavy burning in his gut, hot and uncomfortable.

"Yeah, okay, I ate your fucking yogurt," Mike went on, and Misha sucked in his breath because Mike had just _admitted_ it, admitted it to his face. "But it was my second week," Mike continued, "and I thought it was my own fucking yogurt, okay? It was just a fucking mistake, and are you ever, _ever_ going to let it the fuck go?"

"No!" Misha said, without thinking. "Because I really don't give a fuck about the yogurt!"

There was a moment of silence.

"What the fuck," Mike said.

_Oh God_, Misha thought. _You idiot. Don't go there, you_ idiot—

"Then what the fuck are you so angry at me for?"

_Don't say it, don't—_

"At you laughing at the idea of dating me, okay?" he snapped.

Mike drew in a sharp breath. Misha clenched his hands and dropped his eyes furiously to the floor. He could feel humiliation sweeping up his neck and across his cheeks. _Fuck. Fucking fucking fucking_ fuck.

"When," Mike said carefully, "have I ever—"

"Don't even pretend," Misha said sharply, anger and mortification rushing through him, making his stomach swoop and his eyes burn. "Don't even. The first time I met you, you and your Superman of a boyfriend, whatever the fuck his name is, were standing there and I—. _Fuck_. I asked you out and you both _laughed_ at me."

"Misha," Mike said, his voice strangely soft. "I swear to God, you never—"

"Fine, it's petty and self-pitying, _whatever_," Misha said quickly, to cover whatever the hell kind of excuse Mike was about to give. He didn't want to hear it. "You think I'm strange. Whatever. I'm over it. Okay? And I'd be more than happy if we could be finished with this humiliating conversation now."

"No!" Mike said, sharply. "No," he repeated, quieter. "Because I don't—Misha—God, if I'd _ever_ thought you were asking me out, I would've said yes. In a heartbeat."

It was suddenly so quiet Misha thought he could hear the silverfish scattering over the pages of the books.

"What?" he said.

Mike looked quickly at him, then away. "That first time we met," he said. "I remember you told me the name of the bar where you hung out. I guess I—didn't realize what you were saying. But if I had—" he looked up again and met Misha's eyes "—I _would've_, Misha, because Christ, ever since I _saw_ you I've had this thing for you."

Misha stared at him.

"And I _like_ strange," Mike added, tugging self-consciously on the hat in the shape of an owl that he was wearing. "If you haven't noticed, _I'm_ pretty strange."

Misha swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "What about Tom?" he said, forgetting that he'd been determined not to admit he remembered Tom's name.

"He's not my boyfriend," Mike said quickly. "He's married. Happily," he added.

"Oh," Misha said. He stared at Mike's mouth as he licked it nervously, his tongue darting quick and pink and wet across the bottom lip. "Okay," he said, before he could lose his nerve. "I think we should go have sex now."

~~~

Misha barely managed to get the door to his apartment open before they were kissing. Mike's mouth was hot and urgent against his, as though he thought if they separated, even for a second, they might suddenly lose whatever this was. And God, Misha was with him; he was with him all the way. He grasped frantically at Mike, pulling him closer, right up against him, and then tugged sharply at Mike's obnoxiously frustrating clothes to get his hands on warm skin.

Mike muttered against his mouth and his hand came up to grasp Misha's head, trying to hold him in place and fuck his tongue into Misha's mouth. Misha gasped and pushed back against Mike.

"Such a fucking _asshole_—" Mike hissed into his mouth and Misha grunted back, clashing their teeth and sucking on Mike's tongue. He could feel this everywhere, could feel it building deep inside him, sparking across his body and pooling hot and heavy and aching in his dick. It felt _amazing_.

"_You're_ the asshole," he muttered when Mike pulled away from his mouth to bite at his ear and pull his shirt off. Mike made a noise that could have been a laugh, but it shifted into a groan as Misha scraped his fingertips across Mike's left nipple.

"I can't believe—" Mike gasped but got distracted by sucking a bruise onto Misha's collarbone. Misha didn't have it in him to complain about that.

Instead, he got his hand down to Mike's crotch and curled his palm around Mike's cock, straining through the material of his pants. The noise Mike made this time went down in history as the sexiest sound Misha had ever heard, bar none.

"Oh Jesus," he said as Mike shuddered against him. "Oh _Jesus_."

He managed to direct them into his bedroom and get Mike stripped of his shirt and sprawled on Misha's bed. God, he looked gorgeous like this, Misha thought. All that smooth skin, the bright blue of his eyes, the swollen curve of his bottom lip. His sheets had never looked so good. Misha reached out to press his hand to Mike's chest, suddenly feeling as though his racing heart and aching dick could wait, could _wait_ for this.

"This is—" he tried to say, and slid his hand to curl his palm around Mike's bicep.

"Yes," Mike whispered, his eyes on Misha's face. "You can have it, Misha."

_God_. Misha shuddered and his mouth was suddenly dry. "You can have it, too," he managed, the words tugged out from his chest, lingering in the air until Mike smiled at him, suddenly warm and open and wanting.

"Does that mean I can fuck you?" Mike said, his eyes flashing with amusement and there was an edge of laughter in his voice.

But—"Yes," Misha said. "God, _yes_."

Mike sucked in his breath. When Misha met his eyes, they were hot and dilated, focused intently on Misha's face.

"Do it," Misha said, "Do it, fuck. I want it," because God, he _did_, he wanted that, wanted to feel Mike so deep inside he wouldn't be able to breathe, wanted to smell and taste Mike with such an intensity that aliens could invade Earth that very second and he wouldn't give a good goddamn.

Mike pulled him down and kissed him, hot and intense, his tongue fucking its way into Misha's mouth and his teeth biting into Misha's lip. "Yes, yes, God, yes," he muttered.

Misha slid away from him to fumble into his nightstand for condoms and lube and when he sprawled back next to Mike, Mike had got rid of the rest of his clothes and was lying there _naked_ and—_fuck_. Misha couldn't help reaching out to touch him, smoothing his palm down Mike's side: the knob of his hip, the curve of his ass.

He was distracted enough not to notice Mike's hand on the button of his jeans.

"Yes?" Mike said, the corner of his mouth lifting up as he slid his hand into Misha's boxers and wrapped it around Misha's dick. Misha managed to make a noise in response but it was probably unintelligible because Mike's _hand_ was on his _dick_ and he really didn't have time for fucking _questions_. Either Mike understood that or he gave Misha the benefit of the doubt, because he started stroking and Misha arched up into him and spread his legs.

Then Mike's fingers were moving lower and pressing against him, slick and hot, were _inside_ him, and Misha could hear himself moaning. God, he sounded needy and desperate, but he didn't even care, because he'd never wanted anything so much in his life, ever. Mike was fumbling with the condom wrapper, not nearly quick enough, and Misha dragged him down, pulling his own legs up, and Mike's cock was _finally_ pressed right where he was aching for it.

"Oh my fucking God," Mike breathed, and Misha groaned in agreement. He gripped at Mike's shoulders and shoved back against the hot pressure, dragging Mike inside him, deep and hot and amazing. Mike started to move, long, slow, drugging thrusts, and that felt even _more_ amazing, triggering something hot and smoldering inside of Misha. He grasped at any part of Mike's body he could reach to keep him close and keep him _moving_. Sensation tingled all over his body, dancing off his skin, centering deep and heavy in his balls and dick, begging to spill out everywhere, to explode out of him. God, that was it, Misha thought desperately, as Mike sped up and got his hand on Misha's cock again, as everything built inside him, huge and aching and inevitable, that was _it_, the aliens could be centering their photon lasers on the goddamn fucking White House and he didn't fucking _care_, and he came with a cry, the orgasm pumping out of him in waves, sticky and wet and burning on his stomach.

"Oh my _God_," Mike said again, and then he was pulling out of Misha—oh, too soon—and tearing the condom off and stripping his cock to shoot slick, hot strings onto Misha's still-shuddering stomach, their come mingling on Misha's abs.

There were a few minutes of quiet. Misha dazedly wondered how many sick days he had left, because it suddenly seemed _extremely_ unlikely that he would be able to get out of bed, much less get to work, within the next, oh, several days.

Mike shifted next to him, his leg casually brushing against Misha's. It felt—nice. Okay, more than nice.

Misha sat up abruptly. "Ha!" he announced loudly in the direction of his self-satisfied couch, and lay back down again.

Mike was gazing at him. He didn't look weirded out, which Misha thought was probably a good thing. He reached over and rubbed at the sticky mess cooling on Misha's stomach, and Misha shivered involuntarily.

"My couch thinks it's superior to me," Misha explained.

"I have a very arrogant recliner," Mike offered. "And my bookshelf judges me when I shelve Clancy next to Coetzee." He looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should have couch sex just to prove it wrong."

Misha let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

"So, does this—" Mike said softly. "I mean, are we okay?"

Misha blinked. "Okay?"

"Can we stop being nemesi—uh, nemesises—" He stopped and laughed a little. "I mean, stop being the nemesis of one another now?"

"Nemeses," Misha said, after a minute of thought.

"Hmm. You don't like nemesi?"

"League of Extraordinary Nemisi does sound better than League of Extraordinary Nemeses," Misha conceded.

"Right?" Mike said, but his voice sounded oddly restrained.

"I mean," Misha said quickly, "it might be difficult to get used to the idea, but I think we could give it a go. Considering."

He turned his head to look at Mike directly. The smile Mike gave him was small and tentative and it made him look gorgeous. Misha swallowed.

"Good," Mike said. "Cause if I don't want Irv to destroy the house entirely, I really need to get home and feed him." He paused and smiled again, and this time he looked like everything Misha had ever wanted. "I could use some dinner, too, actually. Want to come with?"

There was clearly only one appropriate response to that question.

~~~

The next day, Alona gave Misha an alarmingly suspicious grin when he came in. He thought about it for approximately five seconds and then cornered Julie in Mystery.

"Did you get Alona to switch shifts with me?" he demanded.

She grinned at him. "Oh dear heavens, I can't believe you're still alive after that awful experience," she said.

"You totally set me up!"

"I saw Mike this morning," Jared said from behind them, "and he was humming a Miley Cyrus song. What the hell happened last night?"

"Were you in on it too?" Misha demanded.

"If by 'in on it,' you mean manipulated your asses into a cease-fire, then yes," Jared said.

"Well," said Misha triumphantly, "if by 'cease-fire,' you mean two rounds of filthy hot sex and morning blow-jobs, then I'd say you succeeded."

Jared stared at him in shock, and then started to cackle with glee. Julie coughed furiously and hid a wide grin behind her hand.

"I hate you both," Misha said.

~~~

"Katie!" Misha said, just before lunch. "I've got an idea for the greatest window display idea you ever could have imagined!"

Katie looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Okay," she said. "Hit me, hotshot."

"Okay, so, listen. We use a bunch of Alan Moore graphic novels to _papiér mâchée_ a statue of Rorschach. A Rorschach entirely composed of copies of Watchmen! Well, and glue. Genius, right?"

"Well. Leaving aside the fact that we'd have to tear valuable merchandise to pieces to make this glorious tribute," Katie said, "isn't Graphic Novels Mike's section?"

"I gave him permission to promote my sections," Mike said mildly from behind her. Misha smiled at him and Mike grinned back.

"What's happening right now?" Katie demanded suspiciously, looking back and forth between them. "You guys aren't glaring at each other. This feels weird and wrong."

"Oh please," Misha said. "Don't judge, Katie."

Mike caught Misha's eye and winked. Misha felt suddenly ridiculously warm and happy. He winked back.

"Methinks you should be quaking with fear," Mike said to Katie, who was rolling her eyes at him. "After all, I'm also in charge of the Erotica section."

 

End.


End file.
